The Probie Chronicles
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: "Can I call you Jenny?" He couldn't help it; the movie reference had to be made. But then he noticed her red hair and striking blue-green eyes. Tony changed his mind. "I'll call you Paige."
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: My muse ran away, and so I'm slowly easing myself back into this lovely realm of writing. Here's a little fic to entertain you. The chapters will be generally short, and regular-ish. I hope you enjoy the first installment. Remember: reviewing is caring!

Disclaimer: I own nothing of NCIS. All rights belong to CBS. Darn!

The Probie Chronicles

_Chapter 1: He said, she said._

At first, no one believed it. Least of all the three musketeers that were the MCRT.

Rumors started flying down the intra-office grapevine, originating with the director's chatty new secretary. Whatever the original news, its disfigured cousin was what arrived in the bullpen.

"Gibbs is _retiring_," Tony muttered incredulously as the Silver Fox himself strode out of the bullpen. A seconds-old e-mail from Sylvia the Human Resources Girl contained the information. She'd heard it in the break room from Adam from Legal who'd read it in an e-mail from Jason from Cyber who'd heard it from Jackie from Narcotics, who'd heard it from Robin from Evidence—and was now telling DiNozzo.

"I do not believe it," Ziva insisted firmly, peering over his shoulder. "Gibbs retired once before, remember? See how _that_ ended up!"

"It's _office gossip_, Tony," McGee scorned, albeit uncomfortably.

An odd silence rested between them until Tony voiced the question that they'd been silently, collectively pondering.

"And if it's true?"

Ziva opened her mouth to speak, but her gaze fell behind Tony and she dropped her head demurely.

DiNozzo steeled himself for the head-slap he knew was coming. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Ziva's lips twitched in amusement and McGee shook his head. "No." They assured him decidedly.

"But I _am_, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony hurriedly swung his legs off his desk and whirled his chair around to face the director, who stood with his hands folded calmly in front of him. It was a posture that thoroughly unnerved DiNozzo.

"Director," he greeted as respectfully and professionally as he could. Feeling the heat of the man's unwavering gaze, he blundered on. "We were just, uh—"

"So I heard." He deadpanned. He looked at them in turn, weighing his next words carefully. "Agent Gibbs isn't retiring."

They all heard it:

"_But?_" One of them asked.

"He will be heading up a new team, effective the beginning of next month. Our new agents are in need of…" And the director's mouth may have turned slightly upward before he continued. "_grooming_. I asked Gibbs to take the position, and he agreed. On one condition."

"Which is?" The question was defensive; with sinking feeling, each of the three co-workers wondered who was fixing to get transferred. They waited for the blow.

Director Vance allowed them their moment of anxiety, a suspicious, almost mirthful light in his eye before he abruptly broke the silence.

"Agent DiNozzo."

And Tony held his breath, praying that the next sentence he heard would not contain the words _agent_ and _afloat_. He couldn't have anticipated what came next.

"_This_ team is yours." A congratulatory nod was offered to the speechless senior agent.

The only thing Tony could do coherently was blink. "Wow. That's—that's…wow."

A little more self-possessed than their friend, Ziva and McGee exchanged a panicked glance, remembering the last time he was in charge.

"We'll be one short." McGee offered up the irrelevant observation almost frantically. The implications of the statement were not lost on Ziva, who vividly remembered the abuses suffered the first time that Tony was boss.

Vance smiled knowingly. "Personnel files are in the conference room."

And so began the search for a new member of Team DiNozzo.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks for your interest in this little story! I hope you enjoy the next installment. Please continue with feedback; it's always very helpful! Have a great weekend!

The Probie Chronicles

_Chapter 2: Job __Interrogations__ Applications_

None of the first dozen applicants quite fit anyone's idea of "right" for the team. The first two weeks of screening resulted in nothing but normal work being neglected and patience becoming worn. David, DiNozzo, and McGee couldn't agree on any one person being a potential fit for the job. There were too many ground rules to abide by.

The new teammate must be educated, but not overbearing. The new teammate must look the part of a professional. The new teammate must not be annoying. The new teammate must have a sense of humor. The new teammate may not be allowed to transfer from Legal, Cyber, or the FBI. The new teammate must not matriculate from MIT. The new teammate must not have been a former Marine or assassin. If male, the new teammate must be no shorter than five feet-eleven inches and no taller than six feet-two inches tall. If female, the new teammate must be no shorter than five feet-three inches and no taller than five feet-nine inches tall.

The interviewees faced insurmountable bias.

_That guy gave me the creeps. That girl—did you see her nose? I could never work with her; I'd think of the Wicked Witch of The West every time! McGee, this dude is heavier on the geek-speak than you are. Now look, look, __**look**__ at this kid. Do you think those skinny little hands could fire a gun?_

Tony was the harshest critic of all.

Unanimously, however, the three agents agreed that everyone interviewed for the position failed to answer to a satisfactory degree the most important question asked.

_Why do you want to do this job? _

The various responses were…interesting,

A stocky PI answered with brutal honesty: "Because the FBI isn't hiring."

Tony's jaw flexed in annoyance. "So, what? NCIS was your back-up option?"

Application status: Rejected.

"You have quite an excellent record of cases solved," a freckled geek nodded, jittering in her chair. "And I find field work more satisfying than work in the Cyber Unit. But…I wouldn't have to carry a gun, would I?"

Behind the glass, Ziva's eyebrows flew into her hairline. "Is she _serious_?"

Application Status: Rejected

And the others who interviewed were just as promising.

"Director Vance made me apply."

Tony skipped an incredulous beat before responding. It was too weird. "Huh. That's interesting."

Application Status: Rejected.

"I thought this was Metro's _CSI_ division."

Taking notes, McGee faltered with his pen mid-sentence, looking up to bore the question into the young crime scene tech's forehead. "You _do_ remember that you checked into the _Navy Yard_ to get in here, right?

Application Status: Rejected

The best was saved for last.

"See, they wouldn't let me join the Marines, so I thought I'd try to get as close to the Corps as I can."

It was at this point that Ziva, conducting the interview, could no longer contain herself.

"_Who_ wouldn't let you join the Marines?" She knew she'd regret asking.

"Well, uh," the man squirmed uncomfortably. "The Marines."

"The Marines," she repeated dumbly. "Oh."

Application Status: Rejected.

Emphatically, unanimously, immediately, and unapologetically.

**...**

D.C.'s best Chinese take-out wasn't enough to conquer the disappointment and fatigue in the squad room that night.

"Well," McGee ventured tentatively, "Why hire someone else? The three of us can handle it."

Tony and Ziva snorted in unison.

"True." David conceded, running her finger lithely across the edge of the file she was toying with. "But there won't be anyone to deflect the verbal shrapnel when Tony gets into one of his… _moods_."

She held her partner's gaze and batted her eyelashes innocently against his icy glare.

"Anyway, McGee," Tony groused. "_You_ remember how hard it was when we were one short." It was a very pointed statement. The sigh of defeat was loud. "I have one more interview tomorrow. If _that_ doesn't work out, then—"

"Then _what_?" Tim interrupted peevishly.

"I'll join him in going on strike," Ziva supplied bitterly. Sighing, she gathered her belongings and rose to leave. "Enough is enough for one day. Good night McGee, Tony." She nodded to each of her partners.

" 'Night," he returned distractedly, already poring over the next personnel file, belonging to a young woman.

"Lucky Number Thirteen," he mused aloud, earning a curious glance from McGee. "Tomorrow, then."


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: A late night treat I decided to give you. It's not the best, but I couldn't not throw it in here. Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful night!

The Probie Chronicles

_Chapter 3: In Which Ziva Makes a New Acquaintance_

Upon reaching her third floor destination, Ziva observed two things.

First: Two doors to the right, an attractive young woman flitted in and out of the hall, hefting boxes into her apartment one by one. Flushed, out of breath, and obviously in need of help.

Two: Tony was nowhere to be seen. At the end of the hall, his door was decidedly closed, effectively stonewalling any opportunity for his DiNozzo charm to introduce itself to the new girl.

_What?_

Clearly, Ziva had underestimated the extent of his frustration when he'd called twenty minutes ago to enlist her help with his dinner flop, an unfortunate attempt at falafel. Even so, his seeming ignorance of the new neighbor was astounding. Feeling apologetic _for_ him, Ziva stepped forward and rapped lightly on the doorframe.

"It's open!" A voice called distantly. Ziva took a few steps inside and turned her head to find the tenant in the kitchen, her back to the entry as she arranged her dishes in the cabinet. An auburn French braid trailed down her head. The last of the plates in place, she turned to her visitor.

"Hello," she greeted warmly.

The very paradigm of American cordiality, Ziva smiled in return. "I saw you in the hall and thought you might need help."

The girl huffed a laugh and peeked out the door at the rest of her belongings. "It's been an adventure," she admitted animatedly, "especially since my Cousin Luke ditched me for a date. I _think_ that I can manage the rest of the boxes by myself. The TV, though…that might be another story."

Together, the two women maneuvered the bulky flat-screen inside and set it atop the designated cabinet, Ziva noting the budding collection of all movies action, adventure, and romance.

"There!" The girl proclaimed triumphantly as they made the final adjustments. She exhaled in relief and pulled her rumpled t-shirt back down over her midsection. Two things in order. "Thank you so much."

"It is no problem," Ziva nodded. She looked around the quaint living area, which was strewn with things that were feminine and classy without being frilly. "Are you new to D.C.?"

"No!" She laughed as she busied herself unpacking another box. "I moved here from another complex a few blocks over. My building was… interesting. All of my neighbors were feds, and not all from the same agency either—FBI, CIA, DEA, NSA—and they didn't get along _at all_. I just kept my head down and did _not_ talk about work. Do you live here?"

Ziva laughed at both the question and the statement that preceded it. "No, I was just coming to help my…," and she faltered, making a face before settling on the right word, "friend correct his cooking errors before he permanently ruins Israeli cuisine."

Her gaze flickered, and something familiar caught her eye. A holstered Sig rested on a coffee table. "You too are law enforcement?" She asked in surprise.

"Yes," the young woman replied proudly. "I just finished training and I—"

The phone rang from the bedroom and a sour expression crossed her face. "I have to take it—I know it's my mother."

Ziva laughed and nodded as the girl dashed to the back of the apartment. She took her leave as well, hastening to Tony's. She let herself in and found him hovering at the door.

"Finally!" He fumed, exasperated with everything. "What—"

"I was helping _your_ new neighbor move in," she explained smoothly, gliding past him into the kitchen. Incredible things awaited her there. "Tony, what did you _do_?" She poked at the mush that was supposed to be falafel. She'd _never_ seen anything butchered so badly, and she wondered how he'd managed it. Until she saw the mix at the top of the trash can. She plucked the box out and held the directions in his face.

"Did you or did you not read these?" Her eyes conveyed much more annoyance than _he_ had previously felt.

"Well, you know." He hedged, beginning to cop his signature sheepish smile. "It seemed pretty easy."

Ziva rolled her eyes and began the entire cooking process from the beginning, relaying the account of her previous twenty minutes as she did so. She realized with a mental kick that an introduction had never been made, but she recounted things like the girl's DVD collection, décor, and law enforcement affiliation. "She seems nice," Ziva concluded.

But even though she'd been a keen investigator for more than half a decade now, the particulars of fashion still continued elude her when it came to formulating a complete opinion of a person. They were either well dressed, or they weren't. She had Tony to infer the rest.

Ever practical, Ziva failed to notice the girl's stylish belt, and the shiny badge attached thereto. Closer inspection would have shown the emblem on said badge to resemble exactly the one at her own hip.

The new neighbor was a colleague.


End file.
